The Adventures of Scaldo and Dwarf
by Kitt Otter
Summary: Scaldo Chubb is a hobbit who wants only to eat for the rest of his days; but one horrible day a rude traveler drags him off into the unknown. At the mercy of an insane dwarf, Scaldo must face unseen enemies, hungry water, and even uncooked meals...
1. Something at Third Breakfast

_**Chapter 1: Something at Third Breakfast**_

Scaldo Chubb was a well-to-do Hobbit. He lived in a nice, old hole in the South Farthing left to him by his Grandma Chubb. She had pitied her grandson for his parents' rather untimely deaths; his father was struck by a runaway manure cart and his mother died shortly afterwards, from overeating. (So they say.) From his father, Scaldo inherited a profitable pipeweed business, hence his being well-to-do.

Yet for all his well-offness, he did not, as was thought proper by the other well-to-do Hobbits, host meals or tea gatherings. Indeed, his heart and mind was in his stomach. A thought such as sharing his food out of courtesy was beyond his comprehension, so Scaldo earned the label of a social outcast. Not that he noticed; he was too busy eating. As can be imagined, he was rather fat and rather lazy. (Almost twice as wide as tall.) The only thing that came next to his fatness and laziness was his squashed-faced ugliness, and it was said (behind his chubby back) that troll blood ran in his mother's side of the family; not that any of the inhabitants of the South Farthing knew what a troll was.

Enough about that. What this story is about is how Scaldo got off his fat bottom.

It began on a late summer day, about third breakfast. Scaldo was eating (as usual) when he spied something queer outside his summer-kitchen's window. Queer as in it did not belong there and queer as in he did not get a good look at it before it was gone.

The decision between getting up and eating was no contest. Scaldo continued to chow down his morning cake. (He ate them two at a time.) Before he even reached a slice of the second, he again thought he saw something.

Under normal circumstances, he would ignore it, for precious time would be wasted relocating his bulk, but outside of his summer-kitchen grew his extensive garden, supplying fifteen percent of his needed sustenance. So it was a sense of necessity that drove him to heave off his chair and waddle to the window. There was nothing. Just rows of vegetables.

Scaldo shook his deformed head and turned back to his chair. Then he wondered if he could reach the food on the table from were he stood and save the trouble of returning. He stretched out his porky fingers. Nope.

Back on his seat, he cut a loaf of bread in half and jellied each side. No sooner had he licked the crumbs off his chin and wiped his hands on his vest that something brushed past the window. Yes, there definitely was something.

Annoyed, he got up to solve the mystery so he could continue a peaceful third breakfast.

Scaldo opened the window, just barely squeezing his fat face through.

"Sweet muffins!"

There in his beautiful garden (worked by the sweat and pain of his hired gardener) was a dwarf. The fellow was bent over, behind him a trail of chaotically scattered stems and vines. Now he was engorging all of the lettuce as though the world would soon end. Already demolished were the carrots, the unripe pumpkin, the watermelon, and the tomatoes. The garden really was not so beautiful now, it was more like a compost heap.

Scaldo gained back his senses and shut his open mouth. He felt nauseated. As fast as his plump legs could carry him, he ran to the door. (Which really was not that fast.)

When he reached his garden – it looked twenty times worse now – the Dwarf had started on the asparagus.

"Stop! Stop! Oh help!!"

The Dwarf paused and went right back to eating handful after handful. All Scaldo could do was stare in a state of extreme shock. He had never seen someone stuff so much in his mouth at once. (And that was saying a lot.) Not even his famous uncle Limbo the Three Stomachs could eat so much so fast.

Soon the Dwarf had finished and smartly walked over. Most noticeable about him was his blue hood, so large it overshadowed his eyes. He wore also a light blue tunic, muddy boots, and a traveling cloak. His long beard (indeed, only a dwarf could wear such an awkward ornament) was brown, and the look of his girth was slim for having eaten so grandly.

"Stop standing there with yer mouth agape and let me in. There are things to be done."

But Scaldo was close to a faint, telling himself over and over this all was just a nightmare. To wake himself, he pinched his fingers into his soft flesh. "Oweee!"

"Eh, what did yeh do that for, stupid?" The Dwarf tapped a boot. "Now let me in and cook me some eats. I'm bleedin' _starved_."


	2. An Empty Pantry

_**Chapter 2: An Empty Pantry**_

Barely able to walk, Scaldo could not get through the door. Rather, it was the Dwarf who squeezed him through.

"Which way to the pantry, flat face?"

Scaldo limply pointed ahead. The Dwarf left him. Eventually, Scaldo was able to think again, but before he could even comprehend what he had just done, the Dwarf returned picking his teeth. "That all?"

"You…" squeaked the disheveled hobbit. "You ate… pantry… everything!?"

"Yeh can get me more victuals later. Now to business, Waldo."

"Scaldo, actually." He had some dignity, after all.

"Wha' ever!" The Dwarf turned down the hall. Scaldo realized he had left the front door open and slammed it. He then scrambled after the Dwarf, who was making a beeline for the kitchens. From the front door was the main hall, which led to the bathroom, bedrooms, and the focal point of the house, the pantry. From the pantry, the spring, winter, autumn and summer kitchens branched off in a cross. Scaldo's bedroom was next to the kitchen area. Finding it inconvenient to get out of bed and trudging all the way to the kitchens, he kept a mini-pantry (at least to his reckoning) by his bedside. _I will be certain,_ thought Scaldo, _to not tell him that._

Going through the pantry, he looked up at the barren shelves and a whimper escaped his mouth. First the garden, then the pantries. You can imagine how unstable he was at this point.

The Dwarf sniffed around the summer kitchen, after licking up what remained of Scaldo's third breakfast.

"Come 'ere, Chubb."

Scaldo, feeling uneasier and more numb by the moment, complied. The Dwarf reclined in Scaldo's large chair, muddy boots on the table, checking for crumbs.

"Wait!" said Scaldo. "My name, how did you know my name?"

Finishing his search, the Dwarf replied, "What's it to yeh?"

Scaldo, irritated of the Dwarf's invasion and rudeness, grew bolder. "Then what is your name, _sir_?"

The Dwarf stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair with a crash. "Bla, bla, bla! Who needs a name? I ain't in this stinkin' place to gossip!"

That shut Scaldo up, for a little while.

"Now, where was I?" The Dwarf rubbed his large hood, and Scaldo placed his fat bottom on the floor in fatigue. (It had been a rough day already.)

"Right!" the Dwarf said, pounding the table. "Time to go!"

So overwhelmed with relief, Scaldo could scarcely squeal; the nightmare was almost over.

Walking out of the summer-kitchen, the Dwarf said, "Come, fatty!"

Scaldo would have gotten up in shock, if he could. But his weight overbalanced him, and he became stuck on his back. "Wh- wh- wha- wha-!"

"Yeh heard me. Come!"

Like a fat, dying beetle, all Scaldo could do was kick in the air.

The Dwarf prodded him with a boot. "Don't got all day!" A well-aimed kick got Scaldo up again.

"But-"

"No time!" The Dwarf grabbed the collar of Scaldo's shirt and half dragged him into the hallway. There, he stopped. The long nose protruding from under his hood sniffed. Scaldo was confused until he realized the Dwarf was sniffing towards his bedroom. Suddenly, the Dwarf flung him away.

Here was Scaldo's last chance for retaliation. "No!!" he cried and flung himself at the gluttonous trespasser. Unfortunately, he fell short and hit the floor instead.

When Scaldo looked up, there towered the Dwarf licking his lips. Sacks and jars lay spewed from his open bedroom door.

"Now," said the Dwarf with a final lick. "Now we can go."

Scaldo heaved his bulk up and wretchedly followed the Dwarf out the door. With all food gone, he really had nothing else for it.

_**Note to readers:**__ If you find any grammar or consistency errors, please tell me. _

_If you review, I will try to answer you privately be email. If I cannot, I will answer you at the end of the story._ _Thank you!_


	3. Outlaws

**_Chapter 3: Outlaws _**

Scaldo had never walked so far in his life. The last time, he recalled, was when he ran short of flour while baking his Yule cakes. Such an emergency forced him to waddle all the way to the miller and back. It still gave him nightmares. (He had his foodstuff delivered right to his hole, of course.)

_And what am I doing following a mad dwarf?_ thought he. _Maybe I can call for help before it is too late! _

Scaldo lived in the South Farthing in the small village of Bobbing, at its edge sitting his hole. Traffic was sparse in that part; so far he had seen no one on the dirt track. But luck favored him. Ahead appeared a cluster of low hobbit-cottages.

As simple of a mind as he had, he managed to form a plan. He would make a run (waddle) for the cottages. Yet when he looked to the Dwarf, he was not there. Not long was he left wondering because the familiar blue hood popped up above the shrubs by the cottages.

By now, even Scaldo could fathom what the Dwarf was up to. Huffing and sweating, he toddled over.

"Oh muffins… oh muffins… oh muffins…" he panted.

Too late did he reach the first cottage. A trail of piecrusts led from the gaping entry. He stumbled next door; the garden lay desolate. Hoping the inhabitants would not notice too soon, he collapsed at the third's doorstep.

Boot met his flab painfully. "Watch it, Baldo!"

The Dwarf towered over Scaldo, hidden under a mountain of eatables. "Make yerself useful an' carry some o' these."

Just having got to his feet, he almost fell back onto his bottom under the load.

"Hey! You there! Stop!"

Scaldo's heart sunk to his hairy feet.

He could not see. He could not move. He could not think. He felt a tug at his collar, and his thick legs moved automatically. If miracles can happen, they did then, for he ran and managed to keep hold of his burdens. He heard feet pounding behind him and shouts. Blindly following the tug, he panted and sweat buckets. Scaldo was sure he was going to die and then be locked up – abruptly he was pulled sharply to the side.

Lying sprawled on his large stomach, Scaldo took the lack of movement with gratitude. Weakly he opened his eyes and lifted his chins. The Dwarf's face appeared over the grass, cheeks stuffed in the likeness of a chipmunk. (Scaldo had dropped all the provisions when he fell.) The Dwarf shoved him roughly back down into the grass, and also ducked. Scaldo heard their pursuers pass by. Now that his panic had subsided, he noticed the ground beneath felt damp and squashy. He wrinkled his nose. And that smell!

A large, horned head appeared before him. "Moo!"

"Eek!" Scaldo curled up into a futile position.

The Dwarf poked him. "Shurrup," he whispered. Apparently, he had managed to swallow.

A moment later, the sound of feet returned in conversation. Scaldo held his breath and tried to stop his flab from quivering.

"I'd know that face anywhere. Even from behind. Twas the Bobbing Chubb." Scaldo recognized that voice as Farmer Brownfoot who delivered chicken eggs and milk to his door each week.

"Scaldo Chubb? I always knew he was no good. Ain't that right?" Another said and panted.

"Uh-huh. So well off and never once invited a soul for tea. No surprise!"

"I'm just surprised that he could even make it _out _his door," said a third voice.

"I've just come back from town, and I heard there were other thefts this morning."

"Weeell, even if we never find Chubb, he ain't going to be able to show his face around here again," said Farmer Brownfoot cheerily as their voices faded beyond the bend.

Long after they had gone, Scaldo heaved himself up. The Dwarf was already standing, eyeing the cow. For a moment, Scaldo sat there and tried to digest his new position in life. All in one morning his life of comfort had evaporated, like soup left on a warm stove, leaving only unpleasant globs. And standing there, without so much as a regret, was the one who had brought it along: the Dwarf. Then Scaldo remembered the festering spot in which he sat, with no change of clothes. He stood up with as much dignity as possible, but in truth he looked like a dirty, plump chicken. At the Dwarf he looked with what he hoped to be an accusing glare.

"You can't just _steal _food!" (Theft of food in those parts was a grave accusation). "Now the whole South Farthing thinks I'm a thief! How can I explain an insane dwarf with a bottomless pit for a stomach? Ohhhhh, strawberry pudding! How can I ever again walk into a decent village?"

The Dwarf only laughed. The cow mooed. Scaldo wondered if this had been the purpose.


	4. Wild Beasts

_**Chapter 4: Wild Beasts**_

"You must clear my name!"

"Shurrup!"

"Surely if you consider it rationally-"

"Shurrup!"

"Have you not just a _leetle_ decency?"

"Shurrup!" On and off had Scaldo tried since they left the cow pastures. Now, forever later as far as he knew, they had entered an unsettled wooded area. With the Dwarf still refusing to speak.

"Umm, at least tell me where we are going," he said more meekly.

The Dwarf gave him a look from under his hood that said simply _shurrup_.

Scaldo gave up, too exhausted to care anymore. He looked back on his life, and all it seemed to be was walking. And _hunger_. He decided he would die in the silence of a martyr; however, he still felt like sitting down and sobbing.

"I will go no further," he announced and collapsed in the undergrowth, which turned out to be stinging nettle.

"Wha' ever. I'm gonna find some eats," said the Dwarf as he stomped off.

"Eats?" Scaldo asked eagerly, scratching. The Dwarf had already disappeared into the trees. Suddenly, the round hobbit felt very much alone. The little forest began to look unfriendly in the dimming sunlight. Shadows took strange forms and Scaldo could swear they were moving, shifting behind a trunk just as he tried to get a good look, and coming back out to spy on him when he looked away.

He rolled out of the nettles to the base of a tree. That felt safer. As exhausted as he was, he could not relax. He began imagining food, which grew fangs and ate him in turn.

_gurgrowl_ Scaldo sat up, his eyes wide. What was that sound? Slowly, he scanned the dusky trees. "D-Dwarf?" he squeaked. No one answered. _Just the wind,_ he told himself with the age-old excuse. He lay back against the tree, but no rest would come now. As a chubby-faced lad he had listened to stories of wild beasts that lay in wait after dark for stupid hobbits to walk by and eat them feet first.

_gurrrrgrowl _Scaldo leapt out of his fat skin. Then he stood motionless. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _if I am still enough, I will not be noticed._ Remembering then his adventure in the cow pasture, he doubted even the densest wild beast could pass up his stench. He wanted to cry. Quickly he searched for a thick stick and brandished it like a club.

_gurrglegrowl _It came louder than before. Scaldo was quivering before he could help it. _gurrrgrowwwl! _He backed up against the tree. _gurrglegrowwwl! _He closed his eyes and prayed to anyone that may have been listening. _crack! _Snapped a twig._ wham!_ Went Scaldo's stick.

"OOCH!" Wild beasts did not make that sound, Scaldo was sure. He opened his eyes. A very, very annoyed dwarf stood there with a dented hood.

"What did yeh do that for, yeh idjit?"

"Uh-muh-uhg."

The Dwarf snatched his stick and raised it. Scaldo cringed back. The Dwarf brought it down on his knee; it snapped and he threw the two pieces away.

_Gurglegrowl pop! _Scaldo realized with giddy relief the noises came from his stomach. Strange and unnatural, hunger was. His relief gave him vigor to say the one question he was dying to ask. "Where's food?"

Patting his hood back into shape, the Dwarf ignored him. When the Dwarf was done, Scaldo asked again.

"What do I look like? Yer butler? Get yer own!"

All strength and hope had finally come to an end for that long day. The poor plump hobbit sagged miserably to the earth. Darkness swept in and gave him merciful respite from his starved tummy.

A fox passing through the woods stopped and sniffed. "A hobbit!" he thought. "Or I think that's a hobbit; and a dwarf. Sleeping outdoors at night! What is this world coming to?" He never did find out.

Next morning, Scaldo's growling stomach woke him to the smell of roasting meat.

"'Bout time, Lazy-gut. 'Ere!" The Dwarf tossed him a scrap of meat, which Scaldo gulped down faster than Túrin gained names. With food, hope seemed to restore itself. Then he was hit with the strangeness of this sudden generosity.

Scaldo opened his mouth to speak – when something whistled past his face. He turned his head to watch it sink into the ground at his feet. A dark knife.


	5. A Tumble

_**Chapter 5: A Tumble **_

First instinct was to dig a hole and stick his head into it.

"Gerrup!" shouted the Dwarf, overruling the hobbit's instinct. Scaldo tried but his bottom weighed more than his stomach and he fell over, just as another knife hit the ground where he had been sitting.

Scaldo did not know what was happening. There were shouts from the Dwarf and more whistling of knives. Shock took over his senses. "Gerrup, Chubb!" came the voice through the haze. But Scaldo simply could _not_.

Boots landed by his side. "Move!" Scaldo felt a hard shove against his sagging middle. Before he knew it he was rolling. Rolling down hill.

Leaves and stems smacked his fat face leaving it stinging. They were soon flattened. The world became a swirl of greens-blues-greens… he started to feel sick. _plop! _His descent ended in squishiness.

For a moment Scaldo lay still on his stomach. Numerous cuts and bruises throbbed. He got onto his chubby knees in the mud. He had rolled into a creek bed, fairly dried up from the hot summer. In a daze his mind wondered… who were those attackers… what if they decided to find him?

What was needed was a plan. _No time to waste, Scaldo Chubb! _he told himself. _I must find somewhere to hide._

He tried to stand, but slipped back in. Again and again and again, till he was unrecognizable as a troll-faced hobbit.

Finally, with a tremendous heave, he was upright. He reflected that, after this, he would need to devote a fortnight to solid eating to regain equilibrium of forward and aft. If there would be an after this.

Worry that he had lingered too long forced him to quickly decide his course, that is, to follow the creek upstream. Partly because it was rocky and he would not be so easily followed. Mostly because food grew near water.

After some minutes of walk, the drying mud on his flab began to itch. Under the itchiness, he ached from his tumble. He peeled off a leaf that was plastered to his face, then stubbed a toe on a rock. _Oh, misery, misery, misery._ Scaldo sighed. _Perhaps I might loose those mad knifers _and_ the Dwarf._ That cheered him. It did not last.

A terrible cry, akin to defeat or outrage split the forest. It rang from tree to tree, through the valleys and off the hills, till it faded. Scaldo again found himself on the ground, whimpering with his fat fists clamped over his eyes.

It was a long time before he had the courage to uncover his eyes and even longer to get into an upright position. Had the attackers fled? And what of the Dwarf? He _could_ forget about them and keep going. He would probably come to someone's house and… yet he was still considered a criminal with no means to prove it untrue. An outcast he would remain, forever lonely and hungry. That would not do. He decided to find the Dwarf. And the first place to look would be back up the hill.

An awful time he had trying to find a part of the slope not so steep. Where it was not treacherously vertical, it was rocky and loose. Slowly and painfully he ascended, grabbing overhanging plants to counterbalance himself. This was the most wretched of Scaldo's ventures up to then. For one, he was increasingly tired and hungry. For another, round objects have a tendency of going down, not up.

Better than any clock, his stomach told him it was time for elevenses. And not a mutton pie or cup of tea in sight!

The next plant he grabbed reacted with a vengeance. Scaldo yelped and pulled back his hand, sucking where thorns had pricked. His pain turned to glee, for he recognized the small red orbs on the hateful bush as berries. The very same his Grandma Chubb stuffed him with on summer visits.

Fear of poison, then, was no hindrance as he ripped and stuffed the berries into his mouth. (Whether poisonous or not, he would have eaten them anyway.) He grabbed more thorns than berries and more than once came close to eating his own hand; nonetheless, that could not spoil the rich sensation of eating. Satisfaction came long after, for there were many more berry-bushes nearby. When he remembered his task, he thought it would be good to shove some in his pockets, for later. Recall, his heart lay in his stomach and the will is in the heart. Thus he found much will to make it up the rest of the hill.

One constant law to hobbits, small or gargantuan, is that they are silent footed. So was Scaldo able to come to yesterday's campsite quietly, dodging (stumbling, rather) from tree to tree for cover. Coming to a large tree, he found that he recognized it from the previous frightful night. Camp should be right behind it. He closed his eyes and held his breath, then peeked around the trunk. He opened his eyes.

The Dwarf was sitting on a fallen tree, picking his teeth with a dark knife. The tree had been perfectly upright before. The undergrowth was trampled and looked almost scorched. There was no sign of anyone else. Scaldo was not sure what to make of it: was he relieved or… afraid. At last the Dwarf acknowledged him.

"Where've yeh been? I can't sit 'ere all day!"

With the timidity of a mouse, Scaldo came into the open. The Dwarf gave him a glance from under the blue hood.

"Blood, yer ugly! Give me some of those berries."

Scaldo took a handful of squashed berries from his bulging pocket and held them out. Then something in him snapped, as though a spell broke, for he pulled his hand back. The Dwarf seemed nonchalant, though there was a shadow underneath it, that unpredictableness that Scaldo had grown to dread. Scaldo somehow gulped down his apprehension and adopted a no-nonsense manner.

"See now," his voice sounded squeaky even to his own ears. "I think I deserve an explanation. Those attackers and – and that yell and what happened to them and – err things…" he finished, his toes making circles in the dirt.

"Ain't time for that now, Chaldo! An' yeh reek. We've got to keep schedule and reach the river before dusk." The Dwarf shoved the knife into his boot, jumped off the tree trunk, and snatched the berries from Scaldo's pink hands.

"The river…" Scaldo's knees felt weak. Natural to hobbits, he had a fear of all things large and wet. Still more, the river Brandywine was the boundary of the Shire… and beyond who knew what kind of strange food.


	6. Much Wet

_**Chapter 6: Much Wet **_

"Move yer flab!"

Scaldo narrowly avoided a hard poke, only because he stumbled on a stone for the umpteenth time. His toes were coming to resemble warty cucumbers. Another breath and he was on the ground, trying to cram his foot's end into his mouth and finally dismaying in that his stomach was in the way and that the cucumbers were, indeed, his toes.

A sigh of both weariness and disappointment jiggled outward from his chest. The Dwarf's boots had stomped a path in the undergrowth and his blue hood was disappearing down it. Scaldo set about heaving himself up; he was getting good at this extreme, albeit before unneeded, exercise. Falling into the dirt was something that went along with journeying, right next to hunger and exhaustion. Three heaves was all it took this time and he followed the Dwarf's trail. He could not see the Dwarf but began to hear a great rumble. He felt his stomach, remembering last time. It was not the same, though. Was this yet another phase in the hunger-torment?

Scaldo's soles began to sweat and he would have before long called for the Dwarf (loath though he was to do so) when he reached the end of the trail to his old friend, the creek bed.

"Chubb!"

Scaldo nigh died of relief. They followed the rocky bed a ways, dodging larger and larger puddles, and meanwhile, the rumbling grew louder. The trees parted and the red, red setting sun set off the glow – of the river. How it roared, as if with a hunger it could never satisfy. Scaldo could not help but pity it.

"Get in there!"

"Whereahh!!" Scaldo felt himself shoved into the starved waters.

Scaldo's dead weight instantly sunk like a rock, or more accurately, like a boulder. Confusion and panic followed, though he still retained sense not to open his wide mouth, which would have been his end for sure. He thought, _So this is how it is like to drown in soup!_ He had often wondered. _A shame it isn't, for I should like to be eating that in which I am dying! _

This thought stirred him deeply from within. (Or otherwise it was just his stomach rumbling.) He would _not_ die on an empty stomach. He _would not._ So he set his will, which was strong when set, as you have seen. Scaldo opened his piggish little eyes to the sting of water and threw himself to the rocky floor. Immediately he sprung back up, his bottom surfaced, and rolling and sputtering, he righted himself.

Scaldo took in air and for a moment it tasted sweeter than all pies, tarts, and cakes in heaven or under. Suddenly he wished he could dip the air in cream.

He kicked the thick posts he called legs and earned two scraped feet as they met with gravel. He could stand! He raised his arms in joy, resembling a bloated duck.

The Dwarf stood on shore, in usual unamusement, keeping all senses alert to possible eatables, but never seeming to shift his shadowed eyes from the duck of a hobbit.

"Yer unstinked enough! Come 'ere!"

Scaldo's tribulations crawling up from the river bed defy descriptions. In short, he got up and stood before the Dwarf, certainly less berried, cow pied, and muddied. Scaldo scratched his much deformed and water blocked nostrils.

"Listen careful, Chubb, 'cause I ain't sayin' it twice. Yeh will stay by me and do as I say. Or yeh won't live long enough to learn different. Understand?"

"Excuse me," said Scaldo, trying to raise a finger, but getting it tangled in his left nostril. "I'm still confused about this whole business. You invaded my home, kidnapped me, framed me, and tried to murder me. What is it that we are running from?"

The Dwarf studied his fingers, saying, "We got some time now. I'll make it quick. But keep yer fat mouth shut. Yer here 'cause yeh ain't got a choice. I'm here 'cause I got to keep yeh from dyin' on the way. An' everything else ain't yer business."

Scaldo freed his finger, unimpressed, and perhaps more confused than before. Not that he had much longer to think. The Dwarf at that moment produced an axe and tossed it his way. Scaldo squeaked and leaped onto a tree trunk.

"Get choppin'. Got to make a raft while it's still daylight."

Scaldo, who never lifted a feather-duster if he could help it, stared hard at the axe, hoping it would do its own work so he would not have to use his own energy. And maybe munch on something while it chopped. Then it hit him like a pot to the head.

"Ummm… did you say_ raft_?"

"Shurrup."

Scaldo did not think he liked it at all. He would rather walk to the end of the earth then raft there. Boats were unnatural and impractical. He could not eat them. And a mere layer of wood separating him from a wet doom did not settle well in his stomach.

Even as he thought these things on one side of his brain, the other side yawned and started to wake. It seemed his whole life he had had only one side alert, the other side being fat and lax. Of late, this side had begun to free itself from the greasy goo and rub away sleep crud. So it was that he thought with un-Scaldo like observation that if they were building a raft, they were going west, downriver. And why? What in the name of cherry tarts lay down there?


	7. Watery Doom

_**Chapter 7: Watery Doom**_

It almost cost him a limb, but Scaldo used the time he took fraying logs to plan. The thoughts took a while in coming, starting as a black buzz, slowly focusing to colors, and the colors becoming splendid fruit pies, and finally, the pies became words. _I will trick him into revealing something!_

He looked at the Dwarf, who stood boot-high in water knifing fish (quite a collection already reeked on shore). Scaldo continued to rub the axe blade on the wood and said, "Well."

Splash.

"Well, I hope we don't need to go in a hurry."

Splash.

"Nowhere. Anywhere. Somewhere. No time. Any time at all."

Splash.

"And _no one _should care. Especially not people with knives."

The Dwarf stomped from the water with a stack of fish and in a few seconds had a smokeless fire crackling. The aroma of roasting fish assaulted Scaldo's reasoning powers and that was the end of that.

Scaldo labored over the logs till only starlight lit his work space. Beside a growing pile of fish bones, the Dwarf sat with his back to the spherical hobbit, blocking the small fire. Scaldo looked over hopefully and conspicuously, and at last, the Dwarf tossed him something. Scaldo held wide his arms and jaw. A rope smacked his forehead.

After several unsuccessful attempts at gnawing the thick fibers, it dawned on him that the raft needed rope to hold it together, so he tied together his hard-earned sticks and stepped back with a feeling not unlike satisfaction after a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, muffins, butter, honey, blue berries, and tea. But not quite. _This_, he told himself, _is a raft._

"Blood, it's awful." The Dwarf booted past him and shoved him a burnt fish that looked like it was having a bad day before it was pierced and roasted.

"Mmmmrrrghrum," said Scaldo.

The Dwarf pulled the jumbled mess of logs to the river, treading on the fire along the way. And into the doomable wetness the Dwarf and raft went.

"What are yeh waitin' for, Flubb? I ain't goin' to sit 'ere watchin' yeh breathe."

Scaldo laughed; it was so ridiculous.

"We're not actually going _on _the raft. In the river! He-he! And at night too. Hoo-hoo!"

The shadow under the Dwarf's hood seemed to darken. Crickets decided to use the awkward moment to start their chorus: "Reek, reek, reeeeek." To Scaldo, however, it sounded like: "Doom, die, deeead."

Then he went onto the raft, and they both died.

Not really; that is what seemed to happen later on in Scaldo's memory.

Scaldo did go down to the river and he had three rational reasons. Where the Dwarf was there was also food, dying of too much water was better than dying of no food, and finally that curious side of his brain that had risen recently from dormancy wanted to know more of the Dwarf's purposes.

A great problem had to be overcome, however. The water was too low in most parts to carry the raft far. Rocks caked with dried mud jutted from everywhere in the blueness of night. So they made the following arrangement: the Dwarf sat on the raft and Scaldo pushed, and he was never further than up to his third chin in water. The night was not too cold, but since Scaldo was plenty insulated chillness scarcely mattered. All in all, the going was peaceful.

Next came the bad part. The bank squeezed narrower and rose higher, and the water fell deeper. Scaldo felt a push against his bulk, his right flapping one way and his left the other. His legs gained a reckless momentum.

A roar built up, of the greatest hunger rumble ever heard, and Scaldo realized it was him the river wanted to eat.

"Sweet muffins!" he gobbled. He looked ahead and saw the water had sharpened like jagged teeth. In five seconds he managed to pull half his stomach onto the logs.

"Gerroff!" said the Dwarf. The raft dipped and Scaldo did not care. The water moved very fast now. Yet Scaldo had set his mind; he slunk up, and with a jolt, rolled onto the raft.

Instantly, the raft sunk.

They entered the rapids at the same moment. White foam frothed everywhere like fresh summer cream, though nevertheless, in the angry water it looked unappealing even to Scaldo. The starving water tossed and tumbled his circular being much like a ball. He saw his life of meals flash before his eyes. Scaldo soon was dizzy and his nose and eyes throbbed with water. He did not know up from down, and though his bloated insulation bounced him easily from rock to rock, it rather bruised.

Suddenly a large, ill-intentional rock jumped into Scaldo's view. They met head to head, and as the trite phrase goes, it went black and he remembered no more.


	8. Prisoner of Battle

_**Chapter 8: Prisoner of Battle**_

That was not actually true. Scaldo remembered being wet and sick, helpless and immovable. At some point, he rolled onto a gravely place and sagged there for an eternity. After a while, eternity grew purpler and purpler and finally rosy. Somewhere a rooster, who had little else to do other than perch in the middle of nowhere, crowed. Next a face appeared and a loud voice called, with answering ones.

Scaldo felt himself being lifted, dropped, then lifted again. Almost dropping once more. The voices talked and Scaldo found that soothing until the loudest first voice sounded, and he was dumped on the ground.

It was not until food touched his lips, a warm brothy sort, that his mind crawled awake. The feeders seemed delighted he ate and kept it on, and Scaldo made no protest.

The food ceased all too soon, in Sclado's opinion; however, it gave him the opportunity to have a good look at his rescuers. He looked and thought: _I really must be dead. _

Creatures such as these only existed in stories nannies told hobbit lads and lasses to scare them to sleep. Their legs were as long as Scaldo was tall, they were hairy, their hands the size of pans, and dirty, most obviously barbarous: giants! So many of them, all caught up in a blur of shadows from their own loftiness before the early sun. One of the giants stepped forward.

"Welcome to Sarn Ford. I am Chamsar Cuturgurth Belaran Aglareb."

"He made those up, be not intimidated," said someone helpfully.

Chamsar did not seem to hear. "I am Captain of the Ford Guardians, the stone slingers. Tell me, small troll, how came you here?"

"I am not a troll. That is a queer charge coming from giants."

Chamsar did not hear again. The shadows before Scaldo's eyes cleared and he saw Chamsar was verrry tall, his eyes were stone blue, and he had dark mustaches hanging from under his nose like thick sausages. These he knuckled often.

"I have lost my way," said Scaldo, "I came down the river, you see, and died somewhere, and I am sure I am dead. But if it is not too much trouble, I would like more food. And also-"

"Enough," said the giant leader, "I name you Torug. My men will help you find your hole. Meanwhile, we will fortify you against the sun."

"Now wait! I am a Chubb, not a troll. I cannot go home. What I came from was the Dwarf, and him I must find. He wears a blue hood and painful boots, if you've see him."

The other giants went stone still. Chamsar looked to have processed his words for the first time, and he spoke with a dead tone.

"You know this… person thing?"

"Yes, no, somewhat, rather. May I have second breakfast?"

"No!!! You are a prisoner of battle. Bind him till I judge him. No one is to talk with him."

Chamsar's followers seized Scaldo, groaned, and settled for tying Scaldo's stubby legs together.

Scaldo lay like that, watching the sun slither upwards from beneath a shabby tarp his captors had erected over him.

At some point one of the captors knelt close and whispered. He had the same voice as the one who had interrupted Chamsar earlier. "Be you well?"

"No."

"I am sorry."

"Muffins," said Scaldo, glazed and sprinkled with self-pity, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You should not have mentioned the Dwarf to my brother." This giant did look like Chamsar, with the same blue eyes and dark hair, although he had no mustaches, only a patchy, juvenile beard on his chin.

"Why? What has the Dwarf to do with it?"

"I am forbidden to speak of it."

"But you were forbidden to even talk to me, as well." Scaldo tried not to sound whiny. He was excited that maybe, maybe, maybe this giant could tell him something about the Dwarf.

"Talking is different from whispering. However, speaking is still speaking in all levels of voice. I cannot. I can say this, though: any doings with the Dwarf brings trouble. I would keep away. In fact, I would say the same about Cham."

"Why?"

"I cannot speak of it."

"Ohhh."

The tall one mistook the porkish hobbit's sigh of disappointment for apprehension, perhaps.

"Fear not. I'll back you at your judgment."

"Judgment!"

"Shh, squeal not so loud. My brother's judgments are not so bad. It is all good fun."

"Fun!!"

"Shh. Cham is coming."

The giant stood up (dreadfully far up) with a jolt and whistled with the innocence of an infant. (If infants do whistle).

Scaldo was not the most deductive of hobbits, the Valar know, but he was not assured Chamsar's judgment would be all good fun.

**_Note to readers: _**I hate it when I've been pronouncing something wrong years before learning different (i.e.: Celeborn, heifer…). Well, to spare you that, just remember Chamsar is pronounced with a "k". I spelt it with an "h" for no other reason than that I thought it was prettier than boring old "C". Silly, I know.


	9. The Judgement of Chamsar

_**Chapter 9: The Judgment of Chamsar**_

The next dawn, Scaldo was poked awake. He looked around for special treatment, but the giants were solemn: no smiles, no breakfast. They untied his legs and tied his arms.

Not a sound came from anywhere save the distant trickle of water over the ford. No one was around, either; firewood and tents stood in desolation, though in the clump of trees yonder was a glow, and from there arose what might be described as a foreboding chant.

Scaldo's guards pointed him that way. The corpulent captive's mouth dried up and he could not swallow. It was like having a slice of old, flaky cake caught in his throat. If he had been allowed a breakfast or two to settle his nerves, the dread (boundless horror) would be manageable; however, he had not been allowed breakfast and he could not manage it.

"I got to get out of here!" he said out loud.

One guard opened his mouth as though in answer, and the other guard stepped on the first's foot.

The malicious chanting and slow drum roll now filled the Scaldo's mismatched ears, and whether or not the sounds were only his imagination cannot be told.

They burst into a scene fire-lit, spilling blood red light on the trees and earth. The shadows were as pointy and jagged as crooked nails. The giants stood in two rows, their grim and aloft faces composed of the mixture of fire and sharp shadow. Scary, you know, and it did not help Scaldo's fragile disposition at all. Between whimperings and tremors, he could not recognize the sympathetic giant from yesterday, and by the time he had walked down the row to Chamsar, he was an inch from fainting.

Chamsar was cloaked in black, lofty as ever, and his mustached face merciless, with _doom _written all over it. (Figuratively).

_This is the part when he orders my head chopped off,_ thought Scaldo.

"Torug, small one…"

"Scaldo Chubb, sir," he squeaked.

"Scaldo Chubb Torug, you are charged with trespassing the Ford, the squandering of supplies, and the mentioning of the one whose person cannot be mentioned. Confess you blame for these accusations?"

"Uhh…"

"I have thought over these matters and decided: for your minor crimes of trespass and squandering, I pardon you; however, I cannot pardon the great crime of referring to the unreferable. I shall have to punish you severely."

Scaldo's mouth froze as a large O, and that probably did not help his defense.

"Should not the prisoner tell us his version of events?" It was the nice giant.

Chamsar tugged his mustache and grimaced. "Very well! Tell us your tale."

All eyes fell on the demented hobbit, who felt himself sweat profusely.

"Uhh… right… it all began…"

Chamsar held up his hand. "Hold. Where is it that what began?"

"In my house in Bobbing, in the South Farthing. That is where all the miseries started."

"Continue."

"I am a well-to-do hobbit. Very decent, indeed. I was eating third breakfast in my summer kitchen one morning when the Dwar – I – I mean the one whom I cannot mention…"

"So the unthinkable and unspeakable beast was in the Shire. Said he why?"

"No. I mean, he grabbed me, but…"

"Has he told you his plans?"

"No…"

"Has he told you where he goes?"

"No…"

The mustached giant bade him go on, and Scaldo got the story out between questions and his own growling stomach. He made sure to place special emphasis on the poor rations he had received on his wretched journey. Chamsar was most interested in that they had been heading down the river, though Scaldo nearly wept to talk about it. Finally Chamsar ended the examination with specific questions about the Dwarf, and without ever actually mentioning the Dwarf (directly) Scaldo answered. By now his brain felt so sore and his stomach so empty, he knew he should die if he did not eat three meals immediately.

"Little troll…"

"Hobbit."

"I judge you to be a hobbit." Thus did Chamsar pronounce his judgment.

"Whew. Is that all?"

"Nay. By the unwritten laws of the Eriador, you are a prisoner of battle, and as such, you are bound to my service until I release you. You may not leave. If I order you to fight, you fight. If I order you to die, you die. If I…"

Scaldo felt this was a good enough time to interrupt. "But why…"

"I order you silence, questioning one."

"Surely," said the brother of Chamsar, "the hobbit will need a guard."

Chamsar pulled his right mustache, and leaning forward, spoke with a tone of long thinned patience. "And you, Tintil, will give him orders to follow and not by accident release him?"

"As ever," said Tintil.

Scaldo felt his head to make sure it was still on his body, his stomach to make sure it had not hungered into oblivion, and looked finally at tall Tintil. What horrible tasks must await him, as a servant of a giant!


	10. Confrontations

_**Chapter 10: Confrontations**_

Life with the giants was dull, at best, which suited Scaldo fine. The whole time he was attended to by the brother of Chamsar, Tintil, and Scaldo could not help but feel like a pet rabbit. No need to say, he took advantage of it. He slept and ate all he wanted, and although he could not leave, why would he want to? There was too much food to be eaten: river fish, pan bread, stews, honey, nasty tea that Scaldo drank anyway, and so on.

He did try to wheedle more information about the Dwarf out of Tintil, and slyly he introduced the topic during one luncheon, and had to afterwards pat himself on the back for his success. (Well he tried to pat his back but had to settle for patting his stomach.)

"They had been friends, long ago, and I cannot speak of it--" Tintil's eyes popped in terror. "Forgot I said that!"

"I will," Scaldo lied. Tintil was more tight lipped after that. Even so, Scaldo learned enough to make his blubberous head spin, as in another conversation.

"We call ourselves _men_."

"But you look giant!"

"Maybe; but then you are very short."

"What, now!!!" Tintil spent a minute explaining himself. "And you mean there are more of you?"

"Oh, yes," Tintil looked relieved at changing from the subject of heights. "In towns, great cities…"

"Wait. Actual towns of… _mens_… like Bobbing or Sackville?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Scaldo knew Tintil was stretching the truth, but was polite enough to let it drop. He then dared to ask a question he was somewhat afraid to learn the answer to.

"Do you have knives? Black sharp ones, for throwing and other mean stuff."

"Nay. We have slings. Very practical with the ford stones."

Well, it was sort of relieving they were not the ones who tried to pierce him with flying knives.

Although Scaldo lived in comfort, it was not always cushy like back home, for Chamsar instantly snuffed out any hint of laxness. Everyone had some task, be it searching for spies in the trees or polishing acorns. Chamsar also had so many rules that it was difficult just to breath the right way: no leaning on trees and no yawning before sunset; he who came too early or too late to dinner was punished. (The latter never one of Scaldo's problems).

So things went on smoothly for several days. One afternoon, Scaldo was helping Tintil tally hens, a task Chamsar ordered to be done twice every day, if not thrice. Tintil did the actual tallying. Scaldo just clutched at the hens to keep them still, an endeavor that rarely worked, for Scaldo's looming bulk frightened them mad. If Tintil thought the process annoying, he did not say so.

After another fruitless scramble, Scaldo looked up, holding feathers and no chicken and was irritated that his hard labor was for nothing. Tintil was not counting; rather he was looking across camp. Scaldo looked too and squeaked.

The Dwarf strutted into the circle of tents, blue hood bobbing, face fiercely hidden within it.

"Where's Chubb?"

Scaldo hid his face in the feathers.

Several fingers pointed at the quivering feathers, who said, "Not here!" All fingers were stashed away, however, when Chamsar flung open his tent and marched out.

"He is my prisoner of battle, stunted one."

"I ain't going to argue with yer bloody laws, sausage face."

Chamsar's skin turned deeper and deeper shades of russet.

"You have no right to take what I captured. You are in my territory. But then, you have never respected the laws of anyone."

"Bla, bla, bla. Stop being such an idjit. The Chubb comes with me."

"Not as long as I stand. I have spoken with him. I KNOW ALL NOW."

The entire camp of men had, by now, gathered around their leader and the Dwarf, and Scaldo and Tintil had to bowl their way to the front. Once there, Scaldo tried to get his opinion in. That was not working, as could be noticed. So where vocal force fails, body force will do, and Scaldo huffed his way into the center, between the two contenders, just as the Dwarf pulled loose his knife and Chamsar slung his stone.

The large pebble hit Scaldo, but curiously he felt no pain: it felt only as though he had been poked. Next he knew, Chamsar was wailing. He knelt over an awfully still Tintil. Scaldo gaped, choked, and froze, and the Dwarf took hold of his collar.

It took a while for Scaldo to denumb, and by then the Dwarf had tugged him a long way.

"Stop! I will listen to you no more!"

The Dwarf stopped. Scaldo trembled at what might follow, but as ever the Dwarf's gazeless gaze was unreadable.

"I can't let yeh do that, Chubb."

"Then I'll make you!"

The Dwarf laughed and laughed. And laughed. "Are yeh going to fight me?"

Scaldo did not know how to answer, so instead he raised a fat fist. Quicker than that, a knife was to his chin-entangled throat.

"I told yeh to stay by me if yeh want to live. Yer as dumb as yer father."

Now Scaldo was really speechless. His mouth moved like a fish's, letting no sound escape.

A terrible, echoing yell slapped the air, though not from Scaldo's mouth, and he leapt from his flab.

"Chamsar!"

The Dwarf frowned from somewhere behind his beard. "No it ain't"

And they both ran. Waddled. Whatever.


	11. Down and Gone

_**Chapter 11: Down and Gone**_

Behind them crashes crashed and yells yelled. The ground vibrated; possibly trees were being uprooted and thrown aside. All that kept Scaldo moving was the determination NOT to meet whoever it was causing all that destruction.

"Hurry up!" said the Dwarf.

Scaldo did not bother giving an excuse. _I can't die now. I can't die now. Oh, muffins! I'm so hungry._

Before he was done with this reflection, the ground stopped and he came to a screeching, wobbling halt. As he waited for his heart to stop exploding, he thought how odd it was the Dwarf stood on air. No! He was on a line of wood – flaking, rotting wood that had forgotten it had ever been a tree. Scaldo had seen some of these contraptions before, at least its practical, and smaller, shireish cousins. A bridge. His Grandma Chubb's warning came to him: "If you got to cross a bridge, make sure there is a way not to."

Scaldo proceeded to repeat this maxim out loud as the Dwarf pulled something from his boot. It was a knife, and he threw it at Scaldo, who shrieked and covered his head.

"Hold 'em off!"

The Dwarf held another knife (probably from his sleeve) and started sawing the wood.

Scaldo gingerly picked up the knife, then on hearing the animalish howls of the nearing pursuers, clutched the hilt like it was a talisman. He clamped his eyes shut, and swished the knife, keeping the blade as far from his bulk as possible.

The Dwarf seemed to have warmed to his task and began to hum tunelessly.

"Hrrm hoom hum…"

The tearing and crashing from the pursuers grew louder.

"Hi ho… hrrm hoom…"

A dozen trees sounded to have exploded.

"Hum, hrrm, hoom…"

Scaldo heard woops and knew they had been seen.

"Humm hum HUM! Hi ho!"

"O'er here, Chubb!" Scaldo backed up, still swinging blindly. The Dwarf thudded the wood one last time. An enormous crash and countless shrieks riveted down, down, and gone.

Scaldo opened his eyes. No longer did a bridge exist. The Dwarf snatched back his knife and seemed in a good mood.

"Why didn't you use the axe?"

"Yeh made me loose it, stupid."

Scaldo knew if he did not ask now he would be too afraid later, or more likely, forget to.

"What were you saying about Faldo Chubb?"

"Eh? He was an idjit. Weren't half so fat as Dandelion Chubb, nor yeh, for that matter." The Dwarf turned and trampled a white flower before Scaldo could again loosen his jaw.

"Oh, where are we going now?"

"No Talkin'. Keep marchin'."

"I'm not stupid, you know. If you knew Faldo and Dandelion Chubb, then you must have known about me, which means you want me more than because you're crazy."

"Ain't it gone through yer fat head that I would not drag yer useless corpse with me if not for a reason?"

"Well… not really… much…"

"Hurry up! We're behind schedule. The faster yeh move, the sooner I get rid of yeh, see?"

Scaldo did not see. He was more frustrated than before, and never had so many thoughts run through his head. He was sure he was not afraid anymore of walking around forever, but he was afraid of being hungry forever.


	12. Intermission

_**Chapter 12: Intermission**_

Days and weeks passed that Scaldo could not count. Surely there was no one from the beginning of time to the present that had gone longer without seeing a hot stove. He missed his whole kitchen and hated the evil fire he and the Dwarf cooked with; the fire bit his fingers as he "tasted" dinner, and the food was so bland, consisting of whatever the Dwarf sniffed out. Berries, roots, twigs – well, the last was Scaldo's idea but it did not work out so well – and furry animals. Scaldo could not figure that one out, for he had always thought ham, chicken carcasses, and the like grew on trees.

On those rare moments when his stomach was moderately full, he was able to think about a few things more than food, and usually he came to the agonizing thought of Tintil, felled by a stone, and who had been so nice to him. Guilt festered in his insides like sour milk. If only… at this point his stomach would growl and the sentence went incomplete.

"I wish I'd stayed with Chamsar."

"Why, flab face? Yeh'd be dead! An' he wouldn'tve cared. Get the fire goin'!"

Scaldo remembered Tintil's warning: any doings with the Dwarf or Chamsar would bring trouble. And he remembered another thing.

"But Tintil said you two were… almost… friends."

"Bla, bla, bla! Be stupid somewhere else!"

The rest of the night, Scaldo slept under a bush, far from the fire, for if he got into the light, the Dwarf threw a rock at him. It was cold and miserable; no light even came from the moon, which had a week since been devoured by whatever _does_ eat it in the sky.

The bush he slept under, as it turned out, was a thistle bush. Scaldo's breaches were so faded and frayed, his poor vest so tattery, a few more rips did not matter.

The Dwarf was gone and so was the fire. Breakfast, as hard as Scaldo tried to think it into being, did not appear. So he sucked on a twig and thought: _Misery is me. What would they say in Bobbing?_ Then it slowly occurred to him, picking bark from between his teeth, that he never had cared what they said. _And I wonder, should I have? Was I miserable there, like here, but in a different way? At home I only cooked much and ate much and… yes… Out here I walk and other nasties and eat little. But at home I was always alone. Out here I have, well, mingled. Poor Tintil! The Dwarf is not so nice company, though I wonder if he really means to be so rude. And mean._

Something hit the back of his large head, and he ate the something, without further inquiry.

"Good news, Chubb." The Dwarf's rough voice was so amiable, Scaldo choked. "We're almost there, with time to spare. Everything's ready."

The Dwarf kicked Scaldo, which may or may not have had helpful intentions, but anyway, Scaldo swallowed his mouthful.

"Now listen, fatty. Don't run off and do wha' I tell yeh." The Dwarf's protruding nose sniffed at the sky. "An' yeh best 'ope the weather 'olds."

Scaldo's lips started to form a "w" word, and then decided better.

Two more days the Dwarf stomped down the last of the summer's growth and Scaldo trudged behind, stubbing his toes and wheezing in the heat. The morning of the third start the beginning of the end. That day, Scaldo came to the end of everything he knew and all he could say was: "Sweet muffins."

"Shurrup."


	13. The Edge of the Earth

_**Chapter 13: The Edge of the Earth**_

Scaldo wanted to faint and die. He had never, never, never seen such a sight as this. All the world's pastries on one table could not produce the same overwhelming, stupendous awe

The earth, the stuff Scaldo walked on, simply ended, and water – icky, nasty, terrible, rotten, fearsome, crooked, wet stuff – replaced it, on and on forever. How could there be so much water that it fills the distance as land does? Impossible!

Scaldo swooned, whimpering, "We're not going to walk on that, are we?"

The Dwarf had already turned aside and gone exactly where Scaldo did not want to go. Closer. The roar of the Brandywine river had been terrible; this was absolutely atrocious. It rolled in and gulped out, but as much as it swallowed, it was never appeased. Now Scaldo knew his worst-death-imaginable, that is, to be eaten by the big water, spat back out, and eaten again. Besides, it stunk like a mix of sweaty feet and rotting pork.

They came onto an odd walk, made of silty ground that looked like crushed rock, alongside the churning water. It felt smooth and pleasant between Scaldo's toes, for a while, then it started to bake his feet like pancakes on a stove. Scaldo did not moan, because he knew the Dwarf would only shurrup him. Sometimes his feet got lost in the silt stuff and the greater part of his body tilted perilously. _This is all just fine for the Dwarf!_ he thought. _His boots plough right through these evil grains._

Suddenly, the Dwarf stopped and came near to a flat end, since Scaldo just saved himself from tumbling over. They turned their backs from the big water.

"'Ere we are."

Scaldo looked around and saw only silt stuff, big rocks, and red cranky-looking spiders.

"Where?"

From his hood, boot, beard, or sleeve (Scaldo could not figure) the Dwarf produced a crooked knife, and the Dwarf stuck it into a stone. Click. The Dwarf pushed open the stone as easily as though it was a door. (As it was). The inside was dark and a puff of dankness flowed out.

"Squeeze yerself in." The Dwarf meant for Scaldo to go first. The hobbit did not like that idea.

In he squeezed, though, and with a pop and swishing of loose rocks he fell forwards into the doorway. Scaldo landed rather crushingly into darkness. He heard a thud beside him that could only be dwarf boots, and a crash that could only be the door being kicked closed. Now they were in the utterest of darknesses.

Abruptly the Dwarf produced a light, and the place was made clear as the shadows scrambled from the fire. Dampish stone encompassed the area, tunneling off to where Scaldo did not want to know. The stone was actually smooth and arched, almost to perfection by some skilled stoneworkers. Why anyone would waste time on such a project, Scaldo Chubb could not fathom.

The Dwarf stomped in what might be called a trot. He called back, "Tighten that door!"

Scaldo tried, but it was so heavy and he did not want to leave the circle of torchlight for a moment. He got it as tight as he could, and since he was no trotter, he traddled after Dwarf.

The tunnel seemed to never end. At times, Scaldo thought he saw openings at the sides, yet did not dare to look too close else something look back.

On and on and on. The dank smell, the torch smoke, the echoing of footfalls. It was unworldly to suddenly stop at a round, wooden door, painted sky blue at that.

Dwarf did not knock. He kicked open the door. At the intensity of light that met his eyes, Scaldo covered them.

"Just in time! Stop letting the air out!" said a voice. (It was not _not_ a voice.)

Scaldo removed his fists and squeaked. A cozy room with a table, bed, and real, true cookware met his sight, and brandishing a ladle in the middle of the room was a wrinkled hobbit.


	14. Secrets, Secrets, Secrets

_**Chapter 14: Secrets, Secrets, Secrets**_

Scaldo had to feel his jaw to make sure it had not fallen off. What a hobbit, the most decent of folks, was doing on the Edge of the Earth, gave him more curiosity than even what was bubbling in the pot behind the hobbit.

The old hobbit gave him no time for pondering, and shoved them both into chairs and flung steaming bowels on the table. Though he was not bony and frail, his middle was not so fitted out as it ought to be for someone with so grey toe-hairs; perhaps he was muscular and had been more so in the past.

"I am very confused," said Scaldo.

"That is just as well," said the old one. His accent was less clipped than a lower South Farthing voice, and so far as it can in the Shire, it sounded aristocratic.

The three of them ate through a pot of fabulously foreign fish stew in under two minutes. Scaldo's once immense belly felt happy, but his once sleepy brain did not.

"I want some answers."

"Bla, bla, bla!" said the Dwarf with a sneer (beard hidden).

"I am tired of this!" Scaldo stood and almost overturned the table.

The Dwarf stood too. "I'll tell yeh what I want, when I want."

"No, I want to know now!"

The Dwarf's protruding nose turned pink. "Shurrup."

"No!" And Scaldo dared do what he never would have dared before: he sat on the Dwarf.

"Gerroff."

"Not till you agree to answer my questions."

"Wha' ever. Gerroff!"

Scaldo's nerves were at an end anyway, so he heaved up but that was always a messy process, and the Dwarf must have become much flatter and none much happier.

The old hobbit watched the whole conflict with a totally impassive eye that was almost glazed. Maybe he just had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

At the same time, something seemed to change in the Dwarf; why, he seemed almost impressed.

"Well?" said the Dwarf. Scaldo scratched his flat face; now that he had the chance, he knew not what to say. The old hobbit then snorted and jerked his head up.

"Now what? Eh? You know, we have not been properly introduced. I am Hildifons Took."

Scaldo fell over with such a crash that the room palpitated.

"But-but-but- you went on a journey and _never_ returned!"

"Too true, too true."

Scaldo was upset. His Granddad Chubb's sister had married the Old Took (as he was now called since he simply would not die). A Took! The queerest of queer hobbits! The connection had been scarcely discussed in the Chubb household, for hobbits learned their family trees before they were knee high, and whenever Scaldo so naively asked about that side, his mother admonished him with a _hush child!_ and a smaller thirds on dessert. However, he knew well the Old Took had at least twelve children, all wild. Hildifons had been the wildest, and "spilt his plate" at last by running off for adventures, which was discussed for a year and a day behind cupped hands. The affair had occurred before Scaldo had been born. It was an icky thing to come out here, to be no better than a Took.

He did not say this all to Hildifons, although he did peep "icky" before his cousin-removed-how-many-times pulled him upright.

"What is this place, then?" asked Scaldo as Hildifons thrust pastries into the oven, to calm the fraying nerves. In lethargy, the Dwarf picked his teeth.

"It was built by dwarves," said Hildifons, "They have a name for it but it is in dwarvish and no on except dwarves are allowed to speak dwarvish."

"Don't they live here now?"

"'Course not. It's mine, yeh idjit."

"Oh… you are the last of a long line of dwarf lords!"

"Na, I just took it."

Hildifons broke back in. "This place is as old as the hills. Most of it has been claimed by the sea; still, much remains. I don't even know it all. The way you came in is one of the few remaining entrances of what was a grand city long, long ago."

Scaldo became bored about half way through this speech, and his yawn seemed to have been registered by the Took because he changed the subject.

"I knew Faldo and Dandelion Chubb and was sad when I heard of their deaths. I thought they would go after you eventually too."

"What now! Faldo died in a cart mishap, and Dandelion from over-eating. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Did you never wonder, Scaldo Chubb, where your father got it all? His weed fortune?"

"The ground?"

"Well, yes. But no! He bought it, or should I say, productive means to grow it from a high-priced seller. These secrets unknown in the Shire gave him a boost over the other weed farmers. He grew rich, but never paid back what he owed to the seller."

"Idjit."

"Hey!"

Hildifons kept talking. "Not that Faldo had no reason to not pay. Dandelion Chubb was a spender and food bills became as immense as herself. No offense, lad. Anyway, they, the ones who believed that these secrets sold to Faldo should not have been sold at all, decided it was their duty to righten this wrong." Here the Dwarf laughed. "The cart drivers were never caught, were they? And has a Chubb ever eaten too much? You, Scaldo, can only be thankful your Grandma Chubb took you to the South Farthing and left you in seclusion with her generous wealth."

"Why only now?"

"Oh, hmm, they were satisfied for a while, but recently their flame for revenge has been relit, with a very big lighter, I may say." Now the Dwarf laughed an uproar. "They became sore and they found out a blood relation of Faldo still lived. When I learned of this, I knew there was nothing else to do except frustrate them even more."

"Who!" yelped Scaldo.

"Why, them."

"Who?"

"_Them_."

"_What?_"

"That's so." Hildifons nodded.

"Do they have knives, perchance?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Oh, dumplings. Where does he come into all this?"

"Watch where yer pointing."

"Everywhere." Hildifons threw up his hands. "He sold the secrets to Faldo in the first place."

"No!"

"What's wrong with that? Anyway, I sent him to bring you here. Aren't you glad?" Hildifons's many wrinkles creased into a smile.

"No."

"Goodness! You need to stop being so glum. Worry not about a thing. I have the most wonderful plan. Nothing will go wrong," said Hildifons.

"Nothing wrong! Anything can be wrong! I don't even know who it is I should worry about! Anything could be waiting out there in the dark, and…"

"No one can get in here. Most of the doors only open outwards and the doors that open only inwards have just three keys. I have one, he has one, and that mustached lad what's-his-name has one. Nope. Unless an entrance wasn't shut, we are completely inaccessible."

"Oops," said Scaldo.

"Eh?"

A blade appeared in the wooden door, followed by thudding and banging.

"Someone's at the door." Hildifons bent over the oven to check on the pastries.


	15. More Blither and Blather

_**Chapter 15: More Blither and Blather**_

It took about five seconds for the blue door to crash down. Scaldo knew he was going to die, but instead of hiding behind the chair like he would have a while ago, he grabbed his tea cup and threw it at the gaping entrance.

Except for a sharp yelp, silence fell. Only for a moment. The room then erupted in a cascade of dwarves: smelly dwarves with tangled, greasy beards and randomly assorted mail, helms, and tattery cloaks, yet all sported one common thing, and that was long black knives, glistening evilly. Twice they had been foiled, in the forest and again at the bridge; now they had no sense of humor left.

Scaldo wanted to cry, the Dwarf had out his knife, and Hildifons set out the pastries.

"Give us the Chubb!"

Scaldo, old Scaldo, would have fainted, most literally, dead right there, but the new flat-faced hobbit was unafraid. He knew the Dwarf was there and he was the sure that nothing, not even a horde of slimy, beknifed dwarves could get past the blue-hooded Dwarf. Scaldo, however, was not counting on one thing.

"How much will yeh pay?"

"Fifteen fowl and eight loaves."

"Eighteen fowl."

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen fowl, eight loaves, two silver pieces."

"Make it one."

"Done."

Scaldo's knees became jelly.

"Revenge tastes good," said the spokes-dwarf.

"Bla, bla, bla. Just hand over the goods, then yeh'll have yer revenge."

"Aye. We got a complete revenge plotted out at the cliff. Heh-heh." The spokes-dwarf cracked his knuckles, then motioned to the other dwarves.

As five hefty sacks were passed up, the Dwarf held Scaldo in a clutch of death by his collar. Scaldo was surprised that at the moment of his demise he thought not about strawberry pie or chicken-mushroom dumplings but about how one toe itched awfully, and also he looked at possible escape routes. The door, though, was jammed, and Hildifons was sitting with his chin on his chest. Scaldo felt disappointed. The elderly hobbit looked to have quite a punch. If the mean-dwarves wanted a fight, Scaldo would just have to give it himself. It might result in a few owchies, but the alternatives did not seem so rosy either.

Scaldo brought his hair-matted foot down on the Dwarf's boot. The hobbit yelped and shook his foot; the boot was harder than he remembered. Silence again grasped the room.

That was not as strange as what happened next. With no sort of warning, all the dwarves toppled over each other; so tightly were they packed, they could not help but fall on the dwarf in front. A tangled mass of hoods and limbs was all that remained.

After peeling his eyes away from the fallen mass, Scaldo saw giant Chamsar bowed in the entry, knuckling his mustaches, his leg still extended from what must have been a mighty kick.

"Fear ye, for Chamsar Cuturgurth Belaran Aglareb is come!"

The Dwarf, with Scaldo in train, none too gently stomped over the mean-dwarves sprawled on the floor. In turn, Scaldo clutched Hildifons, who had gotten up to put on another kettle.

Even Chamsar took up no more time with words. Hand in hand, a living chain, all four sped through the stone tunnels; Chamsar's head brushed closely with the ceiling.

Chamsar drove them to the tunnel's end, where four figures stood in the half light of torches. One had an enormous head, and only when Scaldo with within a few feet could he see that it was, in fact, Tintil. His head was wrapped in a tailor shop's worth of cloth, blowing his cranium to proportions incredible to behold.

Scaldo felt wonderful: they had made well their escape and almost were free of this dark hole and Tintil was not dead. Relief melted through him like butter down to his foot-soles.

Yet Chamsar did not make any move to get them out of the tunnel. He kept looking up at the blank stone, then to his followers. Up and down.

"Why is the door shut?"

"We closed it," said one man, "so no one could follow us."

Chamsar pulled his mustaches as though trying to stretch them to a rope's length. At the same time, they all heard a stomping that shook off the distant walls.

"Here we die, comrades and shorter ones," said Chamsar, drawing his wicked sling.

The Dwarf grunted and the Took nodded pleasantly to himself. Scaldo did nothing but palpitate in his flesh, for he had already made up his mind.

It was not long until the mean-dwarves rounded the corner in such a frenzy, their boots carried them along the walls. Shrieking, foaming, knives flailing. Absolute doom.

"Stop!!!" shouted a tubby voice. "If it's me you want, fine, take me. But you shan't all kill each other about it."

Chamsar, Hildifons, Tintil, Dwarf, and the rest looked at Scaldo like he had sprouted mushrooms from his cheeks. Scaldo did not care. All he saw was the dwarves cracking their knuckles and licking their knives.

He looked again at the others. Still unmovable as loaves of bread, (by their own volition) except Hildifons, who took some papers from his pocket and glanced at them. Slightly disappointed, Scaldo waddled into the enemy's clutches.


	16. Clutches of the Enemy

_**Chapter 16: Clutches of the Enemy**_

"Next we're goin' to stick yeh like a hedge hog."

"Then we're goin' to pickle yeh."

"An' smoke yeh."

"Boil yeh!"

Scaldo stopped shivering after the twenty-eighth threat. It had lost its novelty; now all he wanted was to get on with it. Dying, that is. It had to happen sooner or later. _Like cake_, Scaldo thought. You make it, it grows up, it's pretty for a while, and then you eat it. Inevitable, but you enjoy it while you have it.

They had gone down a different tunnel and out another door (supposedly one of those that only open from the inside for whatever reason), then walked a distance on the grainy stuff that gave way to more rock, while climbing higher and higher. The big water sunk below them.

_But have I enjoyed my life?_ He had had everything he wanted. A beautiful old hole, four kitchens, a volumous pantry, a steady income not involving a sweat from his own brow, and all the eating pleasures possible. That was living, right? But in thinking of happy times only his childhood and the travels with the Dwarf came to mind. He had been happy traveling, though complexly, also footsore, hungry, toesore, dirty, and wet. _There's irony for you, Scaldo Chubb._ Yet… he still longed for a last piece of Grandma Chubb's cherry pie (and strawberries and cream, apple bread, sugar with tea, blueberry muffins, and a pound of sausages, besides.)

"May I ask something?"

The nearest dwarf sneezed and evilly blew his nose, and Scaldo decided that was an affirmative.

"Who is the Dwarf?"

"Traitor!"

"Mean one!"

"What did he do?"

"He took what was ours for himself. He tried robbing us of vengeance. He even…" The mean-dwarf's eyes crossed in disgust. "He even told a not-dwarf his true dwarf name."

"Is… is that all?"

"All? ALL! Worst of crimes! Disgusting! That a dwarf could go so low…"

"Surely you're not so decent yourselves."

"Shurrup. We may be exiles, but we've kept our most noble dwarven honor. Tis the way we must get along now. The world is become rotten: men, Elves, and other stink stinking up everywhere. Be as it is, dwarves must keep their honor. The day that goes, so does the sun's fires and the earth's foundations. I'd tell yeh more horrors, but 'ere we are."

They stood on a bare rock, looking out at the big water. A pile of wood was all that rested on it. Some dwarves began a fire on the wood, others took out a pot, and still others produced a jar. Scaldo began to think they had not been giving entirely empty threats.

"Mayn't I have one last meal?"

"Yeh don't look like yeh need it." The spokes-dwarf tapped his nose (not Scaldo's, though). "Tell yeh what, I'll show yeh what we plan to do. After we get finished with the preliminaries, we're goin' to roll yeh down this 'ere cliff and watch yeh sink. Don't want to shock yeh or nothin'."

The dwarves had out their knives. "Now," continued the spokes-dwarf, "Hold still, please."

With the most awful suddenness imaginable, the world went dark. The dwarves howled, some dropped their knives, in same cases on their feet, which made them howl the more. Those who were not jumping in agony were pointing behind Scaldo, towards the big water. Scaldo turned around and saw nothing particularly scary, besides the water. Then he looked up.

"There goes the sun."


	17. The End of the World

_**Chapter 17: The End of the World**_

The sun had vanished from the sky. It grew dark as night, the air chilled, animals screeched, bats flew out of cover, stars popped out into the sky when they should not… It was the End of the World at the Edge of the Earth. Scaldo wept silently as the dwarves ran in circles, screaming.

_No more of that, Scaldo Chubb,_ he said to himself and blew his nose on his sleeve. _Come up with a plan to escape. Hmm. Yes, I know, I'll sneak away._ Pleased by his cleverness, he began to sneak away. He figured he could hide somewhere till the world was done being ended.

It was abnormal to see, out of the chaos, old Hildifons Took, humming to himself. He walked up the hill onto the stone and called:

"Want the sun back?"

"Ugh! Secret stealer magician! You dare insult us?"

"I do, in fact. I want an answer."

"Give it back! Give it back!"

"Only if we make a trade."

"No! No trade, yeh dirty, bloody-"

"Fine, then, no sun."

"Awright, awright! What do yeh want?"

"Chubb."

A groan of disappointment rose and fell. Scaldo was seized by a dozen hands and rolled toward Hildifons, who hummed for a moment in the otherwise tense silent.

"Wait… wait… there you go!"

Suddenly the darkness began a retreat and a warmth and glow rolled over the land. The hobbits departed in swiftness, so far as hobbits go.

"Amazing! Splendid! How did you do that? Real wizard magic?"

"Yes and no," said Hildifons. "I will tell you a secret. I did not do anything. I knew this would happen and I was counting on your and their coming on this day."

"You… you…" Scaldo huffed to keep in step with the older one, also annoyed though he did not understand what Hildifons was talking about.

"Before you get indigent, let me explain myself. It is true that I owe my first wanderings to the advice of a wizard but you can learn no more magic from them than from an acorn! Of more relevance to you, I knew your mother and father, as I would often return at least to the Shire's borders, and your father was, as you would say, queer, by traversing among strangers…"

"My parents did not mingle with outsiders and Tooks…"

Hildifons held up a palm. "Let me finish. Faldo kept me well supplied with weed and I will be forever grateful. On my journeys, I met the Dwarf and he eventually gave me use of the Tunnels below us. How he claimed it from the other dwarves, I don't know, so don't' ask. I found many records written in dwarf tongue, that the Dwarf was only too gleeful to teach me. He was as interested as I was in some of them. For example, many efficient, if forgotten, methods of cultivation and ways to predict good planting and harvest times by means of the stars, and such, were recorded. The Dwarf sold this knowledge at a high price to Faldo Chubb, who saw their worth. But, for all his success in growing the South Farthing's finest pipeweed, Faldo… failed to repay the Dwarf fully. That was not the worst of his troubles. The Dwarf's kinsmen, you met them back there, found the trade of dwarven knowledge contemptible; besides, they did not like the Dwarf. They swore vengeance on the Dwarf and your family. Myself as well, yet they fear me for my magic." Hildifons chuckled.

"I was at Grandma Chubb's that summer." Memory was starting to stir and Scaldo was thoughtful.

"Yes. When I learned they were going to blast their fury on you, I asked the Dwarf to bring you here, which Chamsar almost ruined, by the twenty-third of September so I could use the sun as a bargaining tool. Quite a funny coincidence. I found its prediction in the _secret_ records. Couldn't pass it up! Of course, rain would have bothered it a bit…"

"Umm, won't they want me again?"

"Not as long as I'm around. I traded for you, and they, at least, keep their bargains."

Scaldo studied the wrinkled hobbit, estimating his remaining life span.

"Worry not. I can teach you all my _magic_ tricks, and they will be too afraid to bother with you again. Or they may all die before they do bother. Who can tell?"

"Who are they?"

"Renegade dwarves, rejected by dwarves with decency. They plunder what they believe belongs rightly to the dwarves. Mind you, not all dwarves have such terrible language."

For a moment they were silent, until Scaldo found that his troubles were over, and there here was nothing left to worry over or to stop him from doing as he pleased.

"Going home would be messy… but I do so want to."

"Well, well."

"I could, couldn't I? I could bring the Dwarf back with me, to clear my name. He framed me, you know."

Hildifons coughed and looked less confident. "Oh dear. That might be a problem. He and Chamsar are killing each other."


	18. The End Gets Closer

_**Chapter 18: The End Gets Closer**_

"What!?"

"Well, they were in combat when I left. But I was in a hurry…"

Scaldo did not wait for Hildifons; he waddled at full speed, stubbed his toe, and slowed down again. It did not, however, take long before he saw a cloud of grainy stuff in which one tall figure and a small, normal sized figure ran around. A ways off from them, near the big water, huddled the men with Tintil.

Scaldo went to them first.

"Aren't you going to do anything?"

"Nay! Chamsar said to not interfere," said one man.

"Besides, we dare not move lest the sun burn out again," added another.

Tintil alone hardened up. He turned to the others.

"It matters not. All of Chamsar's orders are void. He broke seventeen himself just now."

The men did not respond.

"Then what do we do?" said Scaldo, rather hoping Tintil would suggest they make dinner.

"I'll tend to Chamsar, you to the Dwarf," said Tintil.

"I disagree with that idea."

"Have you another plan?"

"No."

"Then there is naught else to be done."

Around this time, Chamsar kicked grain stuff towards the Dwarf's eyes (which did not work) and the Dwarf kicked grain stuff towards Chamsar's eyes (which did work). As Chamsar cursed and scratched at his face, the Dwarf stomped on his leather-shoed foot. Chamsar yelped and hopped on one leg like a deranged rabbit.

It was even harder than Scaldo thought it would be to get close to the two fighters. Most of the reason for difficulty was that the ground was littered with missiles they had intended for each other: knives and smooth stones.

Tintil slipped behind Chamsar (still hopping, with half his mustache missing) and hit his older brother in the head with a stone. Chamsar dropped his foot, swayed, and fell backwards on top of Tintil.

Scaldo tried likewise. He picked up a stone and snuck close to the Dwarf with hobbit silence, but his right toes got tangled in his left toes, and he fell onto his stomach. The Dwarf, fresh from laughing at Chamsar, turned to Scaldo.

"Yer next!"

"Now, now." Hildifons finally appeared, walking steadily from downhill. "Let's not be rash. I have an idea: let's have some tea and talk it over."

"How he says," said Scaldo.

"Yes," chorused Tintil muffly.

"The big idjit's too thick for talk."

"Never mind that, never mind. Today's a day for us to celebrate. The dwarves are humiliated once more. Just a little bit of tea, for old times' sake."

"Awright. But just a little tea."

The Dwarf, Scaldo, and the men carrying their leader followed Hildifons as he led the way into the tunnels through the stone door. Back in his room, it was cramped: the men sat on chairs with their knees drawn to their chins, trying to drink from hot tea cups. Tintil tended to Chamsar. He was slumped against a wall, still out cold, with his single mustache drooping.

The Dwarf and Hildifons slurped tea with much noise. Scaldo, though, could not manage to sip his cup without scalding his chins, for he still shook from the overburden of information and frights from the day. Right then, he wondered why he even bothered to stay here, with Chamsar and the Dwarf, when both obviously did not care whether he died or not as long as they irritated the other.

"Why do they hate each other so much?" Scaldo whispered to Tintil, who had stripped half the bandages from his own head and wrapped them on Chamsar's. "But you cannot say anything."

"My oath is void."

"So what happened that their friendship crumbled?"

"The Dwarf made a deplorable insult of Cham's mustaches."

"But… but… that's stupid!"

"Nay, tisn't even all. This insult was made in the company of the Lady Penhíril."

"Ohh…" Scaldo was beginning to see where this was going.

"After this, Chamsar retaliated with a beardlessness jibe, and ere long both were in fisted battle. It happened this took place in a street recently rained upon, and the Lady was toppled and muddied, and that, as they say, was the end of that. Chamsar's honor was destroyed; he changed his name and fled into the wild. Along with the men who came to him, he took guarding Sarn Ford as his purpose, besides hating the Dwarf. I came to look after him, else he do something foolish."

"The Dwarf should not have quarreled with him at all, then."

"My brother has a way of remembering deeds he did, even if he did not do them. Perhaps the Dwarf thought Cham had gotten too highbrowed."

"Ahh, he _is _very tall."

Tintil scratched his sparsely haired chin. "That too."

"If Chamsar hates the Dwarf so much, why did he come all the way here?"

"I suggested we track you and the dwarves. That was only the proper thing to do; however, I think Cham had more than that in mind. He did not want the Dwarf to win, nor the other dwarves. He does not like them either."

"Here is to glorious victory," said Hildifons loudly, draining his tea cup and smacking his lips. He got up and filled the kettle for the seventh time. "Hm-mm. Nothing like a good joke to end the day."

"A joke!" squealed guess who.

"Oh yes! We irritate the dwarves, they try to kill us. What could be more fun? They started it, you know."

"How did they ever find out about me, anyway?"

"I told 'em, flabby."

Scaldo had never been this angry. His eyes narrowed as he seethed over the awful adventures he had endured: the destruction of his pantry, the cow muck, the ravenous water, the scares, the aches, the hunger, just to name a few. "Then that's it! That's it! Those mad dwarves almost killed me three or four times because you wanted to play a joke on them!"

"An' get five sacks of goods." The Dwarf patted the bursting bags.

"Muffins!"

"I told you before, they would have tried to kill you sooner or later; we just pushed things along."

"And they'll really never bother me again."

"Not unless you do not stick up for yourself."

Scaldo looked at his fists, realizing they were quite sizable indeed.

"I think I will. Now, about my going back home…"

"But before that, I want to show you around," said the Took. "Maybe you will came back when I'm gone and put the _secrets _to better use. Those dwarves out there are petty and they'd just as soon eat the manuscripts than read them, for all their talk about dwarven honor."

Scaldo resisted the urge to say _I don't think so! _to the offer but decided it was better to humor the old one.

"I object!" Chamsar stood up, rubbing his head. "He was and is still my prisoner of battle, so says the unwritten laws of Eriador."

"But I won 'im out of battle."

"I traded him…"

_Gurrglegrowl! _"Sorry everyone, but I cannot stand this any longer. I will go and do as I please. Don't dare try to stop me. If you simply must argue, be it over something less ridiculous!" (He did not dare add "and be friends" because he was sure that would have overdone it).

Everyone shurruped, except the Dwarf.

"You ain't so dumb, Chubb."

Compliment or not, Scaldo felt pleased at his aptitude for diplomacy. He looked around at the men, dwarf, and hobbit and smiled.

"I don't know about you, but all this almost dying makes me hungry!"


	19. Something Else at Third Breakfast

_**Chapter 19: Something Else at Third Breakfast **_

It was a sunny spring morning in Bobbing. Almost fifteen years ago, Scaldo Chubb had returned home from visiting a distant relative, (so he said) only to find his home had been sold to a Bracegirdle and his family. Tears and instant pleading had gotten the Bracegirdle to sell it back, and cheap too, on two conditions: Scaldo marry the oldest daughter and allow the in-laws to visit whenever they wanted. Scaldo relented and ended his bachelor days by buying back his own house. The Chubbs held so many food socials that they became the most popular hobbits in the lower South Farthing. The neighbors soon forgot the distant years of Scaldo's greed and his short period of madness before leaving for months. Visiting distant relations will do that to you, Farmer Brownfoot declared jovially.

Today in the grass, not far from the garden, a half-dozen little Chubbs toddled around, looking rather like piglets wearing trousers and skirts. And they squealed like piglets too. A bearded fellow with a large blue hood shadowing his eyes and enormous boots engulfing his feet stomped onto the lawn. The round children squealed in excitement and rolled around him, gobbling the sweets that fell from his pockets.

"Shurrup, all of yeh," said the Dwarf, fondly shooing them with a boot.

Mama Chubb, a big boned lass, looked up as she knit a pie cap.

"'E's in the summer kitchen, if it's Mr. Chubb you be wanting."

At that moment, Scaldo's flat face popped from the window. "Thirds is ready." And on seeing the Dwarf by the garden, "EEK! I – I mean, come in."

The Dwarf and Mama Chubb followed the little Chubbs, who chanted "Yum yum time!" through the front door, the hall and into the summer kitchen.

Scaldo saw to it the children were comfortably pouring food down their throats before he turned to the Dwarf.

"So, how is everyone," he cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, "You-know-where."

"Where, Dada, where!?" wailed one bloated hobbit lass.

"Nowhere, Dandy. Please keep your stomach off the table. Faldo, stop eating with your toes." Then Scaldo said to Mama Chubb and casually as he could, "Nettles, could you bring out the strawberries and cream?"

The children belched and cheered as Mama Chubb brought in the pails of red fruit and white froth. Scaldo asked the Dwarf his question again during the uproar.

"Don't rush me." The Dwarf took a big bite out of morning cake. "I was just 'bout to tell yeh, the dwarves are all taken care of." He laughed.

"You mean…" Scaldo moved his finger across where he believed his throat was located.

"Na, worse. Chamsar, the old idjit, made prisoners of battle outa 'em. Now Took has 'em dustin' the Tunnels."

Chamsar had given up guarding Sarn Ford and decided it was time to guard something bigger, and that turned out to be the big water, or, as he called it, the sea. He had had to trim his left mustache shorter to match his right after the battle with the Dwarf, though Hildifons mentioned in a letter he had his under-nose hair long as ever now.

"Oh, that's good, I guess."

"Guess?" The Dwarf squinted from under his hood.

"I mean it IS good. So… what is Tintil doing now?" Cream was still flying, so outlandish talk was still safe.

"Something dumb."

Tintil had married a giantess and went off to troll hunt, whatever that meant. Last time Scaldo had seen him, about a year ago by river Brandywine, he still had a full but neatly trimmed beard. Tintil was always talking of distant places he and his ranging family had gone, but Scaldo usually could not understand what he was talking about, thought he still listened politely.

Yes, Scaldo liked Tintil, but the big person would have to eventually settle down and settle out, as they say in the South Farthing.

"What will you and Hildifons do now that the dwarves are prisoners?"

"The Took's only readin' his scrolls these days. But I hear there's opportunities up North."

"Of what?"

The Dwarf picked a tooth. "Dragons. Hundreds of 'em. An' hoards of gold with no one botherin' to take 'em."

"And you will be gone in this North for a long time?"

"Aye."

"The children will miss your visits." The children in question were snorkeling around the table for any looked-over eatables while Mama Chubb continued her knitting.

"Aw, shurrup." The Dwarf made a point of picking crumbs from his beard. "An' something else: don't yeh think 'bout comin' 'cause I ain't goin' to take yeh."

That was fine with Scaldo; everything he really wanted - food, family, friends - he had now. Just one adventure had been enough to get it. Oh no, he was not going to leave the South Farthing ever again. Not for all the blackberry muffins in the world.

**The End **

_**Acknowledgements:**_ Thanks to my brothers who would not let me kill Scaldo and Dwarf each time I tried.

Also, I thank The Battling Bard, Triky, WargishBoromirFan, ElvishKiwi, Szepilona10, and all of you readers.

_**Notes to Readers:**_ Hildifons is a real Tolkien-character; you can look him up in the hobbit family trees in the LotR appendices.

The solar eclipse scene was inspired from Mark Twain's _A Yankee in King Arthur's Court, _which, I believe was inspired from a similar ruse played by Christopher Columbus on edgy natives.

_Whether or not there will be more of Scaldo (or Dwarf) I do not know. I started something about Scaldo's horribly selfish daughter and an invitation to The Party, but only _IF _I can find a plot will I finish it._

_I also have some drawings of Scaldo and Dwarf on my livejournal, if you like that sort of thing. (search kitt of lindon) _

And better later than never…

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own none of Mr. Tolkien's works, nor those of Mr. Jackson's, and neither do I intend to profit from them.


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